


Fish and Chips

by NightsMistress



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Future Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/pseuds/NightsMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a storm brewing outside, the sky dark and ominous, and Ronan Nolan has opened the door to Nita and Kit’s flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish and Chips

There’s a storm brewing outside, the sky dark and ominous, and Ronan Nolan has opened the door to Nita and Kit’s flat.

“Hello,” he says, his clothing beginning to hang to him in interesting ways and his hair plastered against his forehead. “It’s a bit damp out here.”

“You brought the storm in with you,” Nita says, frowning over her book. Ronan stands at the doorway, dripping water onto her freshly cleaned floors, and raises his eyebrows.

“It was as clear skies as we get when I left,” he says, taking his jacket off and shaking the water from it before hanging it on the hook Kit nailed into the wall expressly for that purpose. “To my mind, that means it was already here.”

“No.” Nita is not as sure as her words suggest, but right now Ronan is ruining all of her work for that day and she’s not amused. “You definitely brought it with you.”

“Oh, all right,” Ronan says easily, which is less of a victory for Nita so much as Ronan simply choosing which are his battles and which hills he does not care to die on. Four years at college — or university as Ronan would say — has knocked off the rough combative edges to Ronan’s personality without removing the fiery passion that drives him. Sometimes Nita misses the firebrand that he used to be, but she can’t deny that he’s much easier to live with now. It helps that Ronan lives in Ireland for the most part, coming to visit on weekends.

“Take your boots off before you come in,” she says, and is rewarded with Ronan’s muffled cursing as he fumbles with the laces. “Have you seen Kit?”

“He sent me a message,” Ronan says, mostly to his shoes as he continues to wrestle with the laces. “Something about the fish and chips running late and that I wasn’t to have my wicked way with you while he wasn’t here to join in.”

“Wicked ways?” Nita says. It’s her turn to raise an eyebrow. “What if I _wanted_ it?”

“I wouldn’t betray him like that,” Ronan says, the corner of his mouth dimpling in a smirk as he drops into the armchair he’s claimed as his. “That would be terrible. Besides, he’s bigger than you are.”

“You’re scared?”

“Only that I would miss out on my share of the chips. He’s mean when he’s angry, that one. He’d confiscate them and then where would I be? Chipless, that’s what.”

Nita laughs at this, and looks up as Kit appears in the hallway. He is also dripping water on their floor, but he at least has the good grace to mop it up with wizardry and dump it outside. It’s a neat little trick he has on his boots, and Nita itches to pick it apart to learn how he does it, but the wonderfully greasy smell of fish and chips overpowers any academic interest.

“The hunter-gatherer returns,” Ronan announces and is hit with Kit’s damp scarf for his troubles. He splutters, clawing at his face, before managing to peel it off and dump it onto the floor, where it sits in an increasingly large puddle.

Nita is starting to wonder whether the universe simply has it out for her floors. Perhaps it does; she had gone into a fit of cleaning to avoid her final paper for her library science degree, and now she has both messy floors and an unfinished paper.

“Neets,” Kit says, having followed her gaze down to the scarf puddle. “I told you that nothing good would come of avoiding your paper.”

“You would say that,” Nita says, gesturing at him to sit down. He does in the space that she always leaves for him on the sofa, his wet hair soaking her shirt as he leans against her. She takes revenge by capturing the wet peaks of his hair and spiralling them into curls around her fingers. Kit frowns but doesn’t tell her to stop, which Nita takes as an invitation to keep going.

“And he would be right,” Ronan says from his armchair, his mouth twisting into a crooked smile as he takes in Nita and Kit entangled on the sofa. Nita thinks about inviting him over as well, but there are fish and chips cooling in their paper wrapping and past experience tells her that given a preference, making out comes before eating. She wants to eat her chips this time.

“You could serve,” she says instead. “Plates are in the cupboard.”

“I know where they are,” Ronan says, levering himself to his feet. “I put them there to begin with.”

“You like washing up,” Kit points out.

“I like it more than drying,” Ronan says as he collects plates. “It’s a lesser of two evils.” He returns to the coffee table and with the ease of practice divides up the fish and chips. “Here you are,” he says with a flourish, handing Nita and Kit their plates. 

Outside, the storm rages on, but Nita is inside with greasy takeout food and her two favorite boys, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
